


Body Snatchers

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 14 Inspired [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean and Castiel Reunite, Dreams vs. Reality, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gods and Monsters, Hurt Dean Winchester, Little Spoon Dean Winchester, M/M, Post 14x02, Self-Worth Issues, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: 14x02 CodaCastiel isn't sure what to say to Dean now that he's back. Can't even begin to process what kind of affect the archangel Michael has had on the man he deeply cares for. He wants to talk to him, but he's not even sure who will be waiting for him on the other side of the door.





	Body Snatchers

**Author's Note:**

> That episode! It had a lot of good stuff in it, honestly, except the ending? Like, I'm glad we get to see Dean Winchester again but let's be honest, I don't think the poor boy's done with Michael yet. And if he is then like what the hell, writers.
> 
> Anyway, I digress, enjoy the reading!

            He’s been standing outside Dean’s door for a while, staring at it, with one hand hovering just above the knob, frozen. Castiel has been stunned since the moment Sam called him, unresponsive when he heard Sam say ‘we have him’, and nearly catatonic watching Dean walking into the Bunker. Like now, he didn’t know what to say – if he _could_ say anything. All he did was watch Dean, hunched over himself in a suit and trench coat (‘ _And scared – so scared looking; afraid that at any second it would shatter._ ’) shuffle from the entrance to the halls, not pausing for anyone or anything.

            Not even when they locked eyes. It was faster than a blink, Dean’s eyes flitting over towards him and back, but it was enough. He saw all he needed to.

            Now, hours after Dean’s homecoming, he still hasn’t worked up the nerve to talk to him. Every time he works up the nerve to move, another thought ricochets throughout his mind and halts his actions: ‘ _What if he’s asleep? Would I wake him? Should I wake him? What would I say? What could he say? Would it be awkward? Does he even want to see me?_ ’

            Dean takes the choice out of his hands, opening the door and meeting his gaze. He’s changed out of the expensive and stiff suit Michael had him in, dressed more casually in a faded Henley and thin, cotton pants. His tired eyes glow only a fraction of their normal amount, dimmed even in the Bunker’s nighttime low lighting.

            “Cas,” he says, gruff voice shattering the silence, “D’ya want something?”

            “I…” Castiel tries, searching Dean’s face for any give. His face is a blank slate, devoid of any ledge Castiel could grab onto and stop him from tumbling down his friend’s conversational walls.

            Dean doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns back towards his bed, but leaves the door open. Castiel doesn’t move. “Well?” he asks him, “Gonna come in?”

            Castiel finally kicks into gear, gently shutting the door behind him. He paces into the middle of the room, hands at his sides, looking around. Nothing has changed since the last time he’s been there, but he can’t help the uneasy feeling of foreignness tingle up his spine. Castiel can’t begin to describe the unknown landscape of Dean’s psyche, and doesn’t know how to approach it either.

            “I felt you out there, y’know,” Dean says, attention drawn to his hands, cupped loosely between his knees. It piques Castiel’s interest, and he waits for him to say more. “Like a faint buzzing… I wasn’t sure what it was – it could’ve been…”

            “I’m sorry,” Castiel cuts him off, “If I had known I was causing you _discomfort_ I would have left you alone –“

            “Right now, Cas, I don’t know anything _but_ discomfort,” Dean weakly chuckles, scrubbing at his eye, “But you ain’t the worse thing I coulda thought was waiting for me on the other side a’ that door.”

            “You’re safe, Dean,” Castiel says, stepping closer, “You’re safe and you’re back and we’re going to do all we can to keep it that way.”

            “Can you?” Dean asks, finally turning to him. His green eyes, usually lush and vibrant, have been muted – like a forest in late autumn. A man usually known for his boyish looks and charms finally has the lines like most men his age. “He – he’s doing something Cas,” he continues, “Something bad and I… I don’t think he’s done with me.”

            “Then he’s going to have to get through me,” Castiel says, closing the distance between them. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, attempting a smile, “And Sam. And Mary. And Bobby and Jack and every other hunter who cares about you.”

            “Cas…” Dean sighs, rejecting his comfort with the tilt of his chin, “I can’t… I can’t ask any of you to do that…”

            “You don’t have to ask, Dean, we’d gladly –“

            “Why?”

            It was the loudest Dean has been since he opened the door. Even he was startled by his outburst, quickly curling his lip back into a defeated snarl, body turned away from Castiel. As for him, he couldn’t think fast enough – Dean’s word turning any other thoughts to dust.

            “Why?” Castiel parrots back, “Why… why are you even asking –“

            “Look, Cas – it’s just…” Dean sighs. “I appreciate what you and everyone is doing for me but… there’s no going back after this. I made a mistake: a _stupid_ … _stupid_ mistake. Mi… Mi… _He_ wormed his way into my head and I’m not sure I can ever get him out. He’s gone but I… my body still feels like it’s held together by strings, waiting for someone to pull me this way and that. If that ever happens – if I’m not myself again… I – I don’t even want to think about it.”

            “Dean,” Castiel sighs, sitting next to him, “if – and I mean if – Michael _somehow_ manages to even get _near_ you… we’ll never stop fighting for you. Because no matter how broken you think you might be, your family will be here to put you back together again.”

            Dean’s jaw tics, and his eyes mist; he glances at Cas from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t move any farther. “It’d just be easier,” he mumbles out, “ganking me or – or putting a bullet –“

            “Don’t say that,” Castiel hushes him, grabbing his hands, “Dean Winchester, I don’t want you to even think about that.”

            “It’d be easier though, wouldn’t it?” Dean asks no one, “Michael wouldn’t have his sword – and you guys could take him down without worrying.”

            “Dean, this would make _nothing_ easier,” Castiel tells him, “Think of all of us who you’d be leaving behind. Think of what _you_ would leave behind. You, Dean Winchester, don’t give up on _anything_. Why give up on yourself _now_?”

            “What if there’s nothing left of me to give up?”

            Castiel crushes Dean in a hug, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Dean doesn’t respond, not right away, his body too limp and loose to realize what’s happening. Slowly, though, Castiel can feel Dean remember his surroundings. Can feel as Dean’s arms snake around his waist and squeeze tight. Hear the sniffle as Dean’s mask cracks.

            After a long beat of silence, Dean pulls away. “I’m – I… I’m sorry,” he says, “I think I just… I have these moments where I just space out. It happened before in the car with the others ‘n’ then with Sammy earlier…”

            Castiel takes in Dean’s face, screwed up in a sad and curious expression, trying to retrace the steps that he’d taken only moments before. It hollows him out to see what Michael had done to Dean.

            “We really are body snatchers.”

            “What was that?”

            “Angels,” Castiel growls, the word spat like venom, “Maybe it’s a good thing our species is dying. God made us to be caretakers – to look after his creations. But instead all we did is take. It didn’t matter to us who we hurt, as long as we fulfilled our duties. The people’s lives our actions destroyed… the families we’ve torn apart… selfish – all of us!” His voice rings out in the room. “They… _we_ do nothing but poison all we touch…”

            “Cas, that isn’t true –“

            “How can you say that,” he chuckles, “after having _Michael_ inside of you?” His name is as good as a slap on the cheek, the way Dean flinches. Instantly, all the fight drains out of Castiel, replaced by a familiar self-loathing. “Dean…” he reaches out.

            “I… you’re not completely wrong,” Dean starts, voice shaky but unwavering, “Angels are dicks; archangels… on another _level_. Maybe Heaven needs to start over but… _you_ are nothing like them.”

            “We are cut from the same cloth, Dean –“

            “If you were you wouldn’t be here,” Dean tells him, “You wouldn’t _still_ be here with – with me.” He finally turns to Castiel, and in his eyes he sees a flicker of the man he knew before Michael came between them.

            “There… is no other place for me,” Castiel says, smiling, “No other place I would wish to be.” He sighs, “Forgive me for the outburst, I just had some… _intense_ feelings.”

            “Exactly why you’re one in a million, Cas,” Dean says, “Don’t ever let that change.”

            “I won’t.”

            They sit there for a while, in a comfortable silence. Castiel lets his mind wander, content just having Dean next to him. He’s drawn back from his musings when he feels the bed shift, and seeing Dean try to hide an obvious yawn.

            “It’s late,” Castiel says, standing, “I should let you –“

            “No!”

            Dean’s hand holds tight to Castiel’s, his grip firm, digging in. He’s frantic, and it shakes up the once calm atmosphere.

            “No?”

            “I – uh… I opened the door, earlier, because I couldn’t sleep,” Dean says, sighing, “Actually, I didn’t _wanna_ sleep. Thought that if I closed my eyes it’d all…”

            Castiel offers a melancholy smile. “I understand.”

            “Thanks.”

            “What if I stayed with you,” Castiel offers, “Make sure nothing bad happens.”

            “You’d do that?”

            “If it’s okay with you.”

            Dean thinks about it. Castiel can tell from the set of his shoulders, and the way his mouth quirks towards the right. It’s not long before Dean nods. “But,” he starts, gaze downward, “It’d be weird if you just sat on a seat or at the end of my bed so… maybe…”

            “I can make it comfortable for you,” Castiel says, smiling, “Whatever you need.”

            “Cas,” Dean whines, blushing, “Not like… when you say it like that…”

            “What?”

            “…Forget it.”

            Castiel sheds his trench coat and suit jacket, stepping out of his shoes while he loosens his tie. He easily steps into the empty side of Dean’s bed, marveling for a second at how it’s just the right size for him.

            “So how you wanna do this?” Dean asks, lying opposite him. They’re facing each other, faces a breath apart.

            “Is this not acceptable?”

            “I mean, it’s okay,” Dean grimaces, “If you’re gonna be staring at me the whole night then I might not sleep.”

            “What would you prefer?”

            “Making me feel like I should be payin’ you for this, Cas,” Dean snorts, shyly biting at his lip. Castiel smiles, glad his feigned ignorance is drawing more of Dean’s true self out. He doesn’t push, preferring to watch Dean as he cycles through his thoughts. He does consider intervening, however, when one sets his friend on fire, forcing him to smother the flames out with his hands and pillow.

            “What is it?”

            “It’s – it’s nothin’,” Dean says from behind fingers, “Stupid idea… maybe you should just turn on your side –“

            “No,” Castiel tells him, prying Dean’s hands away from his face, “I want to know. What do _you_ want?”

            The words have an effect on Dean. He shivers, and his eyes mist over like they did before. But before Castiel could comment, Dean returns to himself, and tells him: “Hold me.”

            “What?”

            “I want you to hold me,” Dean continues, “with your chin on my head… that’s how I want to do this.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Do it now while I still have the guts.”

            Castiel complies, wrapping his arms around Dean, nestling his chin into the other man’s soft, sandy hair. He feels the ‘ _woosh_ ’ of Dean’s exhale along his collar, grace thrumming at the contact.

            “S’nice,” Dean sighs, cozying up further into Castiel’s warmth.

            “I… agree,” he says, “Good suggestion.”

            It’s awhile before Dean speaks again. Castiel thought he might have fallen asleep, the soft puffs of air slow and rhythmic. But at some point in the night, he’s startled by a mumbled question.

            “What was that?”

            Dean huffs. “I asked if this was real, Cas.”

            “Is it – why… yes? Yes it is.”

            “Good,” Dean sighs, “Feels like it shouldn’t but…”

            “Why do you think this isn’t real?”

            “Michael,” Dean yawns, the weight behind the archangel’s name as light as if he read it off a Styrofoam cup, “He’d do all these sorts of tricks where he’d trap me in a dream of some kind.”

            “He… he did that?”

            “Yeah, there were tons,” Dean explained, “Some were of all of us in the Bunker… on a hunt… he gave me a normal life, fame, fortune, powers – I think in one he even made me a chick – but I… I broke through it all. Saw it for the smoke and mirrors it was… those weren’t hard though, they weren’t his worst ones.”

            “And what?” Castiel swallows around the rock in his throat, “What were his worst?”

            “The simple things,” Dean shrugs, “Sammy and I cruising down a highway… Ma and I together in the kitchen… you and I, just like this… perfect moments where time didn’t seem to exist and that I… that I never wanted to end. Tearing myself away from them, well, it nearly drove me mad.”

            The stillness of the night cloys at Castiel; pressing down at him from all sides, now that he’s aware of some of what Dean had suffered through while under Michael’s thrall. 

            “Hey, Cas?”

            “Yes Dean?”

            “I’m glad you’re real.”

            “I’m… I’m glad you’re real, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? Good? I hope so I was super-delayed in writing it because distractions. But here it is! Let me hear ya by leaving a kudos and/or a comment!!


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